Authors: Kara Karnatzki
Chapter Twenty Two
I stared at the screen.
'What do you know about your new favourite person
?
’ Gemma demanded.
Not this again.
‘
Have you ever, like, hung out with him before
?
’
‘
No
,’
I said defensively.
‘
Yo
u’
d know if I had, Gem. Byron isnot my friend. And h
e’
s
definitely
not my boyfriend. I do
n’
t know him any better than anyone else. I just feel a bit sorry for him, tha
t’
s all. But why does everyone have to assume w
e’
re mates now?
I’
ve never had anything to do with him before today
.
’
‘
Nothing
?
’
‘
Nothing. Never
.
’
She looked at her feet.
‘
I stole his phone
,’
she said
,‘
when he was
n’
t watching. I knew he had a whole battery charge and I wanted to see if I could make a call to my neighbour, to find out if she'd seen Molly, but the signal was crap. I was about to put it back, and then...
look
, it was wrong of me, okay, but while I had the phone, I, you know, just thought
I’
d browse
-
’
‘
Gem!
Tha
t’
s so out of order! How would you like it if someone started going through
your
phone?'
‘
I know. I
know.
The thing is,
I’
m kind of glad I
did
look
-
’
She flicked her tongue stud, sucked her cheeks.
‘
He has photos
,’
she said.
‘
So? Everyone has photos on their phone
.
’
‘
No. I mean,
photos.
Of us. Hundreds and HUNDREDS of photos of us
.
’
‘
Huh? Are you sure
?
’
‘
Oh, yes. Everywhere w
e’
ve been the last few months. Central Bowl. The Hurst Centre. Marilyn Park. You name it, h
e’
s got pictures of it. You, me, Greg, even Leon and Curtis, we all play a starring role
.
’
It took a moment for me to process.
‘
Why would he have photos of
us
?’
I said.
‘
He does
n’
t know us. He does
n’
t hang around with us. You must have picked up the wrong phone - '
I examined the silver and black handset, caught a memory.
'This isn't Byron's phone,' I said. 'Byron's phone is...is
there
.'
I pointed to the silver oblong lying on Miss Nevis's desk, the one I'd seen Byron pick up and answer earlier.
Gemma shook her head.
'Wake up, Kate. That's
Leon's
phone - '
I looked again and realised she was right. My unease deepened further. Byron had taken a call from Leon's phone, pretended it was his. He'd
actually
pretended it was his.
‘
And it's not just photos
,’
said Gemma.
‘
There are notes. H
e’
s made notes on each of us, details about what we wear, how we talk, the little things we do. Like, he said something about me chewing my tongue stud when
I’
m pissed off, or that you go red on your neck when yo
u’
re embarrassed. Know what I mean? Personal stuff. Why would anyone write that down
?
’
‘
Maybe...maybe i
t’
s harmless
?’
I said, uncertain, remembering Byro
n’
s thing abou
t‘
sensory acuit
y’.‘
Maybe it's just his way figuring people out
?
’
‘
Are you kidding? I
t’
s sick. See for yourself....'
She took the phone off me, began to scroll. There they were, plain as day, not just a few, but
hundreds
of photos. Frame by frame, every moment, every detail, all the minutiae of our lives captured and recorded. There was even video footage of Curti
s’
s first day driving, the entire sequence of his blunders. I remembered our conversation about it, how Byron had known all the details. My bones shivered cold. Suddenly it all made sense - the fact that he'd been so opinionated abut Gemma and Leon, that he'd seemed to know everything that had been going on in our lives. He'd been watching us, watching for months.
There was Gemma shopping for jeans; Curtis having a row with one of the doormen at the Hurst Centre; everyone going to the cinema; hanging out at the park; loads of pictures of us in The Pit. And the bowling trip.
The
bowling trip, the one when Leon and I first started talking, when I first started to like him. It was like recalling a memory, seeing events of my recent past, but seeing them through someone els
e’
s eyes.
Gemma then flicked over to the notes, pages of notes, hundreds of observations about our actions and mannerisms, the things we said, how we said them, what we did, where we went. But the title was the thing that disturbed me the most: PROJECT KATE AND CO.
‘
Oh, god
,’
I said, covering my mouth, dropping the phone to the table.
Gemma held my gaze.
‘
Now there's anotherreason for us to get out of here quickly
,’
she said.
‘
We do
n’
t know what h
e’
s up to, but we sure as hell know i
t’
s not normal. And it involves
us
.
’
‘
But it couldbe innocent
,’
I argued, unsure whether I believed myself.
‘I’
ve been chatting with him. H
e’
s just a bi
t…
jealous, lonely. Perhaps h
e’
s been trying to, I do
n’
t know, get to know us
?
’
‘
By
stalking
us? Tha
t’
s not what innocent people do. H
e’
s a crazy boy, Kate. Like, what is it he's planning? We ca
n’
t trust him. We have to leave
.
’
‘
But
-
’
‘
You ca
n’
t
defend
him, Kate. I know you like giving people second, third, fourth and fifth chances and all that, but this time you have to listen to me. We ca
n’
t have another Marshall Finch situation on our hands. Yo
u’
ve seen the pictures for yourself. That freak is
n’
t right. H
e’
s up to something. He's asicko
.
’
‘
Yes
,’
I said.
‘
We need to tell the others
,’
she added.
‘
But carefully. We do
n’
t want Byron catching on. We do
n’
t want him to know that we know. It might set him off.
I’
ll tell Curtis and Greg. You tell lover boy over there
.
’
‘
Yes
,’
I said, sinking.
Chapter Twenty Three
Gemma went to find Greg and Curtis while I stayed by the desk. For as long as no one noticed me in the shadows, I scrolled through Byron's phone again. There was something magnetic about the photos - all the care, the trouble he'd gone to, to record our activity. Why? What did he
want
? What was so special about
us
?
He'd obviously followed us from place to place, kept track of our whereabouts. Lots of the photos were taken in The Pit, the open-plan central lobby of the school building, where most of the sixth form hung out. No wonder h
e’
d known about Marshall's endless text messages. He'd been there.
I couldn't recall seeing him. His face had been familiar when he'd first entered the art room, with his sweaty, red cheeks and muddy boots, but I hadn't been able to place it. He must have kept well hidden. Or had I simply failed to notice him? After all, he'd said it himself:
no one pays attention to the nondescript loner.
As I switched off the phone and placed it back on the table, I realised I wanted to see past the shock. I wanted to understand. As freaky as Byron was, was he actually a threat? My instincts told me he needed my compassion more than my outrage. He'd been pretty honest about a lot of things, almost like he'd been trying to help me, warn me, open my eyes to other people's deceptions. It had seemed like he was on my side.
Oh, god. It was so hard to know. My gut told me Byron was okay, but as Gemma had pointed out countless times, my gut wasn't always that reliable.
I’
d once thought Marshall was the ultimate boyfriend and look what happened there? And now I'd convinced myself Leon was 'The One', but the more I learned about
his
track record...I just didn't know anymore. One thing I did know was thatas soon as the others were told about the stuff on Byro
n’
s phone, there'd be drama.
I decided that the fair thing to do would be to warn Byron first, to talk to him privately. Right on cue, he emerged through the dark. A nervous quiver shot down my leg.
'Hi,' I said.
'Hi.'
'You okay?'
'I'm brilliant.'
'Remember Truth or Dare?' I said. 'Now, it's my turn to ask aquestion. And i
t’
s an important one. Answer honestly. What are you up to?'
He stared at me.
'I mean, do you make a habit of following people, taking photos?'
'Photos?'
'Gemma knows,' I said, my heart racing.
‘
And in a moment, she's going to tell everyone. And when she does - '
Before I could say anymore,
we were interrupted by a loud bang. It sounded like a car crash. It was loud enough that everyone jumped to attention. Byron and I abandoned our conversation and gathered with the others at the back window.
‘
Can anyone see anything? Is it a rescue team?' I said, my hopes rising.
'Le
t’
s open this
,’
said Leon.
He yanked the window and forced the glass upwards. A blast of cold air hit our faces. The strength of the wind forced us back.
‘
Close it
!’
Gemma begged, cowering against the gale.
‘
No, wait
!’
shouted Leon.
‘
Listen. There
is
something
-
’
We heard a sound like cracking, snapping branches, but it was
n’
t clear through the din of the storm.
‘
I
t’
s only the trees
,’
said Greg
.‘
W
e’
d know if it was a rescue team. The
y’
d have sirens and stuff. And search lights
-
’
‘
Not if the
y’
ve crashed
,’
argued Leon.
Greg shrugged.
‘
Let's be honest, how's a rescue team going to get up here
?’
he said.
‘
I do
n’
t see a boat. I do
n’
t hear a helicopter. Ther
e’
s no bridge and no road, remember
?
’
Leon thought for a moment.
‘
There are playing fields behind the ridge. They're probablywaterlogged, but the
y’
re on higher ground. Maybe a rescue team managed to cut across them? Maybe they went off-road
?
’
‘
If you honestly think ther
e’
s anyone out there
,’
said Greg,
‘
by all means, give them a shout, but I really do
n’
t think
-
’
Typical Greg, always a glass half-empty guy. Not that it put us off. We started shouting in unison.
‘
Hello
!’
we cried
.‘
W
e’
re in here
!
’
No reply.
‘
Anyone out there
?
’
Nothing.
‘
Keep shouting
,’
I insisted.
‘
There
must
be someone out there! They might be stuck! They might need help
!
’
‘
My god
!’
said Greg.
‘
Yo
u’
re so desperate yo
u’
re starting to imagine things. And even if there
is
someone, what are
we
going to do anyway? We ca
n’
t get to them. We ca
n’
t help. We ca
n’
t even look after ourselves, let alone help other people
.
’
I disagreed. I thought we were doing a good job - a near-drowning incident and a close call with electricity, but other than tha
t
…
‘
Why do you have to be so grumpyall the time
?’
I snapped, surprised by my temper.
‘
W
e’
re doing our best! Ca
n’
t you see? W
e’
re
trying
!
’
I stood up at the window again. I could feel my arms and legs trembling, shaking from frustration.
‘
Hello
?’
I called again.
‘
Anybody out there? Shout if you can hear us
!
’
Then a horrible thought occurred to me.
‘
What if
-’
I said, turning to face everyone.
‘
What if i
t’
s Miss Nevis? What if sh
e’
s been trying to get back to the school to help us
?
’
‘
Or maybe i
t’
s zombies
?’
said Curtis.
‘
Or killer trees? Or flesh-eating bog rats
?
’
Leon closed the window.
‘
Either way
,’
he said, eyeballing the pair of us
,‘
Gre
g’
s right. We ca
n’
t do anything. W
e’
re surrounded by water. And that wind is crazy. No on
e’
s coming. If w
e’
re going to get out of here, w
e’
re going to have to do it ourselves
.
’
‘
Finally
,
’
Gemma barked.
‘
Yo
u’
re seeing sense. I mean, how long are we supposed to wait for ournon-existent rescue team? Until the roof blows off? Until w
e’
re dead of starvation? Or until one of us turns psycho and kills all the others
?
’
As she said this she glared at Byron.
‘
But we ca
n’
t just wade into the water
,
’ said Leon.
‘
Look what happened when we did that! We need to find another way. You know, it would be a whole lot easier if we could get into main school building
-
’
'Why did the caretaker have to lock the link corridordoor
?
’ moaned Curtis.
‘
I
t’
s not like this crappy school needs high security. Wh
o’
d bother breaking in here
?
’
‘
Ca
n’
t you try forcing it again
?’
said Gemma.
‘
Using your thick head
.
’
‘
Ther
e’
s no way,' said Leon. 'That door weighs a ton. If you're up for it though, ther
e’
s another idea I've been thinking about. You know there's a bank of dry land
-
’
Byron coughed, started fiddling with his glasses.
‘
The ridge
,’
said Gemma enthusiastically.
‘
Where the fourth years hang out
?
’
‘
Exactly. In terms of distance, i
t’
s not that far from the back window, a few metres maybe. The problem is the drop in between. We have to get over the drop, otherwise w
e’
ll be plunging head first into the floodwater - and i
t’
s a long way down
.
’
‘
So, what are you suggesting
?’
said Greg.
‘
Tight ropes
?
’
‘
Kind of
.
’
‘I’
m joking
.
’
‘I’
m not. I reckon we could make a rope. There's plenty of scrap fabric around. If we can collect it together, then I'll show you how to twist and plait it to make it secure. I
t’
s an old SAS technique my brother taught me. He's great at thatsort of thing. Once we've got enough, then we can lash it to the other side and use it like a zip wire
.
’
'And how are we going to do that
?’
Greg scoffed.
‘
If we tie a chair to one end and lob it, hopefully i
t’
ll get caught between the trees, which will act like an anchor
.
’
‘
You ker-
razy
!’
beamed Curtis.
‘
But I likey
!
’
I shook my head.